


A Fraternal Bond of Sorts

by a_belladonna



Category: Tintin (Comics), Tintin - All Media Types
Genre: A little angst, Fluff, Friendship, Haddock being protective, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-22 12:28:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22482970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_belladonna/pseuds/a_belladonna
Summary: On their way back down the mountain, to Nepal and back to Europe, captain Haddock can't help but notice that Tintin seems to be very close to his Chinese friend.
Relationships: Tchang Tchong-Jen | Chang Chong-Chen/Tintin
Comments: 10
Kudos: 58





	1. Tibet/Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> My take, through Haddock's POV, on the ending of Tintin in Tibet and what happened when Tintin and Tchang were reunited.  
> I've always imagined Tintin and Tchang to be the same age, and they're around 18-19 here.

**Tibet**

At first I'd just chalked it up to Tintin's caring nature and a fraternal bond of sorts.  
We'd brought Tchang back to the Tibetan village, and the villagers had generously found a room for us in one of the huts, found spare felt mattresses, blankets, pillows and food for us.  
I entered the room with a bowl of food for Tintin. Don't ask me what it was – it was warm and seemed nourishing, and that was the most important right now.  
Tintin had pushed his mattress up next to Tchang's so it almost created a double bed. Tchang was still feverish and had slept from the moment we placed him on the mattress.  
We were going to bring him down to the monastery tomorrow, but the villagers had convinced us that we needed a night's rest before continuing the journey down the mountain.  
Tintin was sitting on the mattress, keeping his gaze on Tchang as if he feared the other boy would disappear if he looked away for a moment. I sat down next to him, and held out the bowl.  
"Here, eat. I don't know what it is, but it tasted fine."  
He glanced at it. "Thank you, Captain, but I'm not sure if I'm hungry."  
"Ten thousand thundering typhoons, boy! How are you going to help Tchang recover if you're as weak as he is?! He's asleep right now, you're not betraying him by eating!"

He wordlessly accepted the bowl and slowly took a bite. However, it seemed to awaken something in him, and he quickly ate the rest. It pleased me to see that, actually.  
The whole trek had been a grueling affair, and I'd noticed I was now able to tighten my belt a few notches more than before embarking on this adventure. And I'd had a bit to spare.  
Tintin had, in all the years I'd known him, never been anything but slight and slender.  
Muscular, yes, but not with a kilo to spare. His deceptively round face concealed that.  
While he ate I studied his face and the dark circles under his eyes. He'd barely slept for several days; first while keeping the yeti's lair under surveillance and then later when we carried Tchang back to here.  
"How about you get some sleep as well?" I asked.  
"But I need to keep an eye on Tchang!" he argued.  
"No, lad. _Someone_ needs to keep an eye on Tchang. I can do it while you sleep. And judging by how he's sleeping soundly right now, you can safely go to bed as well."  
The stubborn mule nevertheless still looked unsure.  
"If anything, _any thing_ happens, I'll of course wake you up," I continued.  
"Okay," he relented. "I'll take a nap."  
"We need to get you out of some of those clothes," I pointed out. "You can't sleep wearing all of that."  
"Is it really necessary, Captain?" he asked, almost like a little child who wanted to avoid a bath.  
"Of course it is! Or you'll freeze once you get up and outside again! Blistering barnacles, Tintin, here, let me help you!" I said while trying to remove the jumper he was wearing.  
But the boy fought against it and in all the struggle and squirming his shirt and woolen undershirt rode up.  
He frantically tried to pull them back in place as quickly as possible, but I'd already caught a glimpse of his body. As shocking as the fairly visible ribs were, it was nothing compared to the big, prominent bruises around his waist.  
Of course he didn't walk away unscathed from that incident, but I'd somehow convinced myself that I'd received the worst of it. I was wrong.  
Some of his bruises had faded to yellow and green, but a big part of them were still a deep blueish purple and looked like they were still rather painful.  
I looked at him. He looked back.  
"Every time you moved, the rope dug into my sides," he said quietly.  
I swallowed. I'd moved around quite a bit trying in vain to gain a foothold.  
"I'm sorry," I finally said. I didn't really know what else to say, as nothing I said would make the bruises go away faster.  
He looked at me with a serenity in his gaze I'd only seen in portraits of saints.  
"Don't. We're both here, safe and sound."  
That boy. How he'd always be able to forgive and move on, I'd never fathom.  
But for now he needed rest.  
"Allright. Let's get you out of the rest of the clothes, then, landlubber," I said.  
That seemed to break the spell, and he quickly untied his boots and removed his plusfours but kept the woolen underwear on. Although we were inside, it was still a bit chilly.  
He somehow was okay with me tucking the zipped up sleeping bag around him like you would a little child. But he was also fighting to keep his eyes open.  
"You just sleep, I'll keep watch over you both," I said. It seemed to do the trick and he dozed off.  
I looked at his sleeping face. His face was still round, but he'd lost a bit of roundness (others would probably call it 'babyfat', but there was nothing 'baby' about him, in my mind), his cheeks were roughened and weatherbitten from the cold, and his lips chapped.  
Even across the bridge of his nose he'd been sunburned and the skin was peeling a bit. And was that the barest hint of stubble? But for the first time in weeks he looked at peace, lying on his side, one hand gripping Tchang's and Milou lying curled up in the hollow created between his bent legs and stomach.


	2. Nepal

**Nepal**

That there might be more to their bond gradually became more obvious the longer our journey back took.  
That he hoovered over Tchang at the monastery and on the trek back to Kathmandu seemed understandable – Tchang, for all _his_ bravery, was still weak.  
When we reached Kathmandu the news must've spread, because it seemed all of Kathmandu had shown up at the end point of the caravan.  
In a cacophony of Nepalese, Chinese and English, people pushed and shoved to catch a glimpse of the presumed dead Chinese boy and his two saviours. And at the front of the crowd was mr. Tcheng and his chubby son who hugged us all with tears running down their faces.  
Even Tintin, who was clutching Milou so no one accidentally stepped on the dog, seemed overwhelmed by the crowd and the welcome.  
Both Tintin and Tchang ended up pressed close to me in an attempt to avoid being pulled at from every direction. When another person pushed his way to the forefront, I was ready to give him a piece of my mind when Tintin recognised him.  
"Tharkey!" he yelled, and true, there our sherpa was, his arm still in a sling, but beaming.  
"You did it!" he exclaimed, pulling us by turn into a one-armed hug. He looked closely at Tchang. "So, you survive plane crash – but how? We saw no trace of survivors!"  
Tchang smiled shyly. "It's a very long story, probably better to tell someplace else."  
Mr. Tcheng seemed to be of the same opinion and somehow managed to get the three of us, with the help of his son and Tharkey, moved out of the throng of people and back to his house.

I'd expected that Tintin and I just found a hotel but mr. Tcheng was of quite a different opinion. "Absolutely not, hihi! You've saved my noble cousin's adoptive son – the least we can do is to house you before you go back to the West, hihi!"  
"You're far too kind, sir..." I began, but Tintin cut me off.  
"We're humbled by your offer, and we graciously accept it, although we're not worthy," he told him.  
To me, he whispered in French as we went down the street.  
"We can't decline unless we want him to lose face. He's the cousin of mr. Wang, he's _family_ , and we've saved his relative!"  
I'd never heard him speak of 'family' before, but I guess I shouldn't be surprised that the boy found a family in the strangest and most exotic of places. And at the same time I felt a small pang of...jealousy?...that he apparently considered this Chinese clan more of a family than me.

As we arrived at mr. Tcheng's house, we were met by his wife, who looked like she didn't believe her eyes at first, but then also began crying and hugging Tchang as well as Tintin and spoke quickly and loudly in Chinese.  
"She thinks we're in a sad state," Tintin told me. "She said she wants to make sure we gain a bit of weight before going back to Europe."  
I looked from her own chubby son to the two slender boys.  
"We're supposed to leave in two days' time, right? She best get started, then," I mumbled.

Although mr. Tcheng was doing well by Nepalese standards, the three of us still had to share a room, but by now we were used to it – and anything felt like a palace after trekking through the mountains and travelling with the caravan. The last remnants of the humid summer heat of Kathmandu, which was lying like a stifling duvet over the city, was kept out of the room, and the noise from the street below was also just a faint murmur.  
Our meagre packings served as a stark reminder of how much we'd been through – was it really only about a month since we left Kathmandu? It felt like a lifetime, almost.  
I could understand from Tintin that Kathmandu didn't have a lot of water, but they'd nevertheless arranged so that we could wash somewhat properly. Calling it a bath might be stretch, but it was warm water and soap after several days on horseback.

I'd feared it involved pouring a bucket of water over yourself next to clucking chicken in a backyard, but they had something resembling a bathroom in their house.  
"Don't act so surprised," Tintin said, "They're Chinese, they need their baths."  
I did however feel out of my depths when I realised they'd taken my clothes for washing and left me a Chinese/Nepalese set of clothes.  
"Thundering typhoons, Tintin! I can't wear this!"  
"Why not, Captain?" he asked.  
"Because it looks...it looks like a pyjamas! Or something like that!"  
Tintin looked at me somewhat sternly.  
"Give it a try. I spent a month in Chinese clothes once, and it was exceedingly comfortable. They're doing everything to show their gratitude, including spending their water on us. The least you can do is use the clothes they laid out for us!"  
Slipping into it, I had to admit the boy was right. It _was_ comfortable and felt much better in the heat.

And thus I found myself in the guest bedchamber waiting for Tintin to finish his bath. When I heard footsteps behind me, I turned around expecting to see him ascend the stairs, but instead found myself face to face with Tchang.  
"Tintin isn't here, he's still bathing," I began. Tchang smiled.  
"It was you I wanted to talk to, Captain."  
It suddenly occurred to me that we'd never spoken before, not without Tintin present. He sat down on a mattress.  
"I want to tell you how happy I am that Tintin has a father such as you."  
"Er, you've – you've gotten something wrong, lad. I'm not his father."  
"No, not his biological father, but he's told me you're about the closest thing he's ever had to a father."  
So _that_ was one of the things they'd whispered about? And then it really sunk in. He saw _me_ as a father, of sorts. A _father_ , me. I'd never entertained the idea of children, messy, noisy little things as they were. Of course, when said 'child' falls through your porthole as a teen, you sort of skip all those first steps.  
I had to sit down. Was that a lump forming in my throat?  
"You look surprised," Tchang said, sounding concerned. "Something wrong?"  
"No, no...just...I thought...thundering typhoons, I thought I was...a friend...at most."  
"At most?! But he's told me how much you mean to him, how you've been there for him and supported him with your strength!"  
Well, now there definitely was a lump in my throat. I tried to clear my throat. How noble of Tintin to leave out the times where my drunkenness had brought us in trouble.  
"He told me he was worried sick when he thought you wouldn't make it through the return to Earth," Tchang continued.  
He took my hands in his. "It fills me with great joy that he has you to watch over him."  
So Tintin did after all not feel part of this Chinese clan? Or he regarded us all as family? Or was there something else going on here?  
Why was I left with the impression that Tchang was also somehow asking for my permission to see Tintin? I shoved that thought aside.  
They clearly had a strong bond, but not in a romantic sense. Tintin seemed completely disinterested in those kinds of things.

We were interrupted by Tintin and Milou coming up the stairs.  
"Mrs. Tcheng says we'll be eating soon," he said. "As soon as mr. Tcheng comes back. She didn't want to say what he was going out to do, but treated it like a secret."

A little while later we were sat around their table, including Tharkey. The food smelled delicious, but I worried a bit about the chopsticks. Why did I sail everywhere but the Far East in my time?  
Before I could make a complete fool of myself, mr. Tcheng wanted to say a few words.  
Once again he expressed his and his family's unending gratitude and happiness that Tchang was brought back safe and sound. And, he could tell, beaming, he had this evening received a telegram from mr. Wang in Hong Kong who graciously offered to pay for our plane tickets to Europe.  
I remembered Tintin's words from earlier and, along with him, thanked profusely for the gesture. But really, there was no need!  
Then came the actual dinner. The whole chopsticks-thing went better than feared, or they were too polite to stare too much at my attempts.

That wasn't the only toast of the night. Tchang got to his feet and said a few words. Tharkey too. When the feast was finally over, I felt a little lightheaded from the repeated refillings of my glass. Tintin and Tchang fared even worse, though they valiantly tried their best to conceal exactly how hard the alcohol had hit them. Suffice to say I had to steer two giggling, blushing teens up a narrow staircase to our room. I managed to get them to their mattresses where Tintin laid down with a contented sigh.  
"I could just lie here forever!" he exclaimed.  
"What, halfway off the bed? You'll regret it in the morning, old man," I pointed out.  
"Oh? I'm not properly in bed yet?"  
He sat up and crawled further in on the mattress with the exaggerated care seen in people who try to give off an air of being less drunk than they actually are.  
"Th-there you go," he said at one shoe as he took it off.  
"And say hello to your brother," he giggled as he took off the other and placed them next to each other. Tchang, meanwhile, just seemed to be falling asleep with his shirt half off. Never had I thought I'd end up babysitting two drunk young men like that.

I helped Tchang out of the shirt and shoes and laid him down on his mattress. I noticed that Tintin had done the same here as in the village and pushed their mattresses together. Ah well, this was their second to last night together, if they wanted to lie close, let them, I thought.  
Tintin had managed to get out of his clothes on his own, thankfully. Undressing _one_ half-conscious youth was more than enough, thank you very much.  
As I moved to turn off the light, I saw they snuggled closer together, Tintin with his arm around Tchang. At this point I gave up trying to understand anything. Between his psychic dreams, their inebriation this night and heavens know what kind of customs he'd picked up in China, I simply decided they could do as they please, as long as they didn't get sick during the night.


	3. Belgium

**Belgium**

What finally made it abundantly clear what was going on came about a month after our return to Europe. We'd invited Tchang to visit us at Moulinsart. It was early October and there was a definite feeling of autumn in the air, though the days could still feel mild, if you found a spot in the sun.

I was returning from my daily walk, enjoying the crisp autumn air with its faint smell of decaying leaves and feeling how nature seemed to prepare for the winter. I'd asked them if they wanted to come along, but they'd declined, with Tintin telling me he wanted to show Tchang around.  
Understandably, not really any reason for them to hang around me all the time, and besides they probably had some catching up to do - although how much could happen in just one month?  
Following the gravel path towards the house I neared the rose gardens.  
For all Tournesol's deafness and absent-mindedness he really had a green thumb and had managed to cultivate some late-blooming roses – not only were they late, they were remontant!  
All thoughts of remontant roses, however, disappeared when I caught sight of Tintin and Tchang on one of the benches.  
Instead a lot of pieces fell in place.  
Why he'd never looked twice at any young woman crossing our paths. Why he'd been practically joined at the hip with Tchang on our journey home. All this and many more small things made one, large picture.  
They were kissing. And I hadn't just walked in on a peck on the cheek, no, I managed to stumble right into a passionate embrace where eyes were closed, saliva exchanged and tongues definitely included – and was that a hand trailing up under Tintin's jumper?  
As quietly and quickly as possible I turned around and found a different path to the front door. Let them have their privacy! 

Once inside I sat down with a whisky.  
On one hand it pleased me that he was like other young men his age and capable of falling in love. On the other hand I felt apprehensive. Same sex relations were not easy, especially not as a relatively well-known person such as him.  
So far the media had never brought up romance in the same breath as him, mainly because of his age, but he'd soon reach an age where the question of why he didn't settle down with a girl would arise, or whether a mrs. Tintin would approve of his globetrotting line of work.  
Wouldn't the gossip rags just have a field day "exposing" how the Catholic boy-scout reporter was a filthy, degenerate homosexual?  
And this wasn't even just a same sex relationship, it was interracial as well. He surely knew how to pick the most complicated possibilities, didn't he?  
_I_ didn't have a problem with him being with Tchang. He was a fine boy, and I understood now why Tintin had been ready to travel to the end of the world for him.  
And with my own predilictions it'd make me a hypocrite to disapprove of him being with someone of his own gender.  
But would the Wangs be as supporting? I knew nothing of Chinese customs – what if they had a nice girl of good family all lined up for Tchang? What if they forbade him of seeing Tintin? I feared it would end in heartbreak, somehow.  
While lost in thought I heard the frontdoors open and the sound of feet walking hastily across the floor of the hall and continue upstairs. I could only too easily imagine what was about to happen, and I emptied my glass. I could live without this part of fatherhood.  
At least I didn't have to worry about any of them ending up pregnant, though.

"It appears that Master Tintin and mr. Tchang are back inside, sir", Nestor interrupted my musings. "When would you like the lunch served?"  
"Er, I don't think they're coming down for lunch just yet, Nestor," I answered. "Lunch can wait a little while. But could you fetch some more ice?"

The rest of the weekend passed quietly.  
Even though they tried to be discreet about it, it was obvious that they were a bit more than just good friends now. The glances. The way they seemed both more and yet less at ease with each other. How I walked in on them in the library the same evening and they both blushed and shied away from each other. That last part hurt a bit. Did they fear I'd disapprove if I knew?

The answer to that came Monday evening.  
We'd sent Tchang back to London Sunday evening and now, 24 hours later, you could really feel how quiet Moulinsart was when the professor was so busy in his laboratory he didn't show up for dinner and there was only the two of us.  
I looked at Tintin. He seemed more busy pushing a forkful of peas around on his plate than actually eating them.  
"Blistering barnacles, it's rather quiet when we're only two! Even if Tchang is a very well-behaved young man, he did breathe a bit of life in here," I began. 

Tintin just sighed and pushed the peas around some more.  
"You miss him already, don't you?"  
He shrugged. That seemed a rather off-hand reaction. Did they say goodbye on less than good terms?  
"You seemed to become really rather close during this past weekend," I continued.  
His head snapped up, and he stared at me.  
"Tintin, I saw you. In the rose gardens. Besides, one should be quite blind not to notice what was going on. Barnacles, Nestor asked me why Tchang's bed hadn't been slept in from Saturday to Sunday!" 

Admittedly, that last part might have come out sounding more accusatory than intended.  
He flinched and looked down again. I hadn't seen him look younger or more vulnerable since he was shot in the head during our moon adventure. But this time it was my fault.  
We were both quiet for a moment, then he spoke, in a small voice.  
"I understand, Captain. It was foolish of me to think that it was acceptable what we were doing. But you can't make me cut the ties to Tchang. If...if you don't want me to live here now that you know what I am, I understand that. I'll move out. I can probably find a place to live in Brussels. I'm sorry for...for..."  
"For what!?"  
"For being...for being abnormal. For being a filthy queer." He swallowed and stared at his plate.  
For a second I struggled to find my voice.  
"What on all the seven seas gave you the idea that I would disapprove? And what duck-billed platypus has told you you're 'abnormal' just for preferring the company of boys?! Last I checked, it was perfectly legal around these parts!"  
He shrugged. "Legal, yes. Doesn't mean the Church approves."  
"The Church?!" I spat. "Since when does the Church have anything to do with us? Just because you insist on dragging me there for Mass at Christmas, I fail to see why they have a say in who you want to spend time with."  
He trailed the pattern of the tablecloth with his index finger, still looking down.  
"Let's just say 'old habits die hard', Captain. I was told my entire childhood that the right and proper and only thing to do was to find a girl and marry her. That relationships without the Church's blessings were a sin...and, well, they don't marry two men, do they?" he said, finally looking up and meeting my gaze.

"Marriage!? Aren't you a little young to speak of that anyway?"  
"Well, yes, but..."  
"No ifs and buts! Thundering typhoons, Tintin! Most everything is a sin if you look at it that way! But this is not the Middle Ages, nor is anyone going to throw you in prison for this – this isn't England. Blistering barnacles, I sailed for almost 30 years, a bit of puppy love is hardly going to shock me. And if anybody shows up here condemning you and your way of living your life, they'll have to get past me!"

He stared at me for a moment.  
"Is that really so?"  
"Of course it is! How much clearer can it be said? As if I'd follow you all over the earth, and to the moon, like that, only to abandon you because you'd rather hold hands with Tchang than, than, say...that girl who works at the bakery down the village. What kind of friend would that make me?"

I paused to breathe and gave the answer myself.  
"A really, really lousy one! As long as I'm around, you and Tchang can consider yourself safe here. Whatever the outside world might say and mean won't have any weight inside this house's walls. You have my word!"

Tintin blinked rapidly. "Thank you, Captain," he finally got out.  
I reached across the table and gave his hand a squeeze. "No problem."  
I cleared my throat. "Anyway, aren't you going to finish those peas? No dessert if you don't finish them."  
Tintin smiled. "Aye, Captain."


End file.
